


Through the Fire

by Arlyshawk



Series: Lord and Lady of the Wood [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, kid!legolas - Freeform, slight divergence of PJ canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4055830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlyshawk/pseuds/Arlyshawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the princess of Mirkwood goes missing during the night, Thranduil and Coruwen set off to find her during a perilous time. Terrible things ensue and the royalty of Mirkwood is shaken.<br/>A slight divergence of Peter jackson's canon about Thranduil's wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Through the Fire

Their daughter stood upon tip toes to touch the velvety muzzle of a white palfrey, nearly stumbling over the lacy hem of her dress when the mare snorted. Aeweth squealed when the palfrey lifted up its beautiful head to stare at Coruwen. It had large, kind eyes that reminded her of the horses she had learned upon as a girl at her father's knee.   
For a long while, Coruwen was content to watch her children play with the mares and their foals. Legolas played with her palfrey, clinging to the mar by gripping her mane with his tiny fingers. Aeweth, on the other hand, was more apprehensive of the horses. She shied from the horses that scuffed its feet or snorted in her directions. 

"Do not be afraid, sweetling. They will not bite," Coruwen assured her daughter and rose from her stool, padding over to Thranduil's courser. From the time she could remember, she had been near horses. However, her husband's courser flattened its ears to its head when she drew near. 

"Nana, I do not think Suldal wants you near him," Aeweth pointed out behind her skirts. "Ada always says he does not like anyone." 

Indeed, Suldal was known for his surly behavior, often nipping anyone that drew too near. He had dared to bite her once when her husband was present but it ended with the stallion getting tapped on the nose by Thranduil's staff. 

"Well, most horses do not bite save the one your Adar rides," Coruwen teased and backed away from Suldal. Below, Aeweth giggled. It was shrill and silvery, but quiet enough for an elfling. She patted her daughter's golden head as she took a hold of Coruwen's fingers. 

A squeal made her start and turn in the direction of it. Legolas was sitting with a blond foal, his cherub hands clutching the baby horse's prickly white mane as it nibbled at his shoes. Bits of straw stuck in her son's hair like twigs in a bird's nest. Smiling, Coruwen walked over to her baby boy and scooped him up, despite the whinny of disapproval from the foal. She picked out the straw, letting Legolas play with her hair as she went. Though he had her eyes, she saw much of Thranduil in him, physically. The silver blond hair of the Sindar began to show from the time he came into this world with a scream. There was also the pout he often gave her that was oddly familiar. She had only seen her husband flustered once when they were very young. In fact, she barely remembered why he had become so flustered in the first place. She frowned a bit, removing the final piece of straw before cradling her son on her hip. Her palfrey extended its muzzle to her as she drew near, sniffed her hand and then turned its attention to her son. 

The stable doors opened with a quiet groan and she heard the familiar deep timbre of her husband and that of the Captain of the Guard. "It simply cannot be done. As it stands our patrols are stretched thin. And we cannot risk either you or Her Grace at this moment in time." 

"Feren, this is a simple matter. Rohan scouts are reporting orcs sneaking into our forest. I will not have it in my kingdom," Thranduil's voice was sharp, a knife in her hearing. "If I must scour these forests myself, then I shall. Not a soul may stop me." 

"Your Grace, please. If you were to be hurt," Feren argued. Coruwen knew it partially futile. Her husband was a stubborn thing when he wanted to be. Most donkeys might be jealous… 

"Aeweth, please watch over your brother," Coruwen whispered to her eldest, set Legolas down, and then made her way to Thranduil and Feren. The stables were a vast expanse of Mirkwood's caves, carven with a vaulted ceilings and archways, engraved with painted ivy leaves. Eloquent shadows waltzed on the walls, but some loomed in far corners, twisted and feral. She spied Feren first, the shimmer of his mail stark against the dark brown of his hair. Her husband hovered nearby, stroking the snout of his elk. 

Feren was bristling, hands turning the pommels of his daggers in half circles, his fingers pale. She approached her husband, minding the wide, blue stare of her Captain. The ellon was rigid, spine seemed to be filled with hardening lead. 

"Am I hearing correctly? We have orcs near our borders?" She enquired, startling Thranduil some and making Feren glance at his boots. Her husband blinked owlishly at her before turning his gaze back to the elk that nibbled at his sleeve. Sighing through her nose, she turned to Feren, "Captain?" 

"Rohirric birds have word that there are orcs fleeing into our forests, Your Grace," The Captain relayed curtly. She touched her husband's fëa lightly and he pressed back, like hands twining together. "They have killed a few of our patrols and seem to encroach upon us." 

Thranduil regarded her over his shoulder, "I offered to snuff them out but Feren will not hear of it." 

"What else would you have me say, my king?" Feren lifted his voice, forcing Coruwen to watch for her children in case they grew curious. Aeweth more so than Legolas. "If you were to perish, or Valar forbid any more of our men." 

"Feren is not wrong, my love," She began with measure. The look upon her husband's face was enough to knock the stars from the heavens, green eyes wide with horror and Feren's even more so. She gave him an easy smile, fëa slowly undoing the coils of his inward stress. "All ready we have lost your Adar. Risking your life would be folly indeed." 

And for a long moment, the ellyn were silent. Watching, assessing her statement with something that could only be either misunderstanding or shock. Coruwen knew her husband, knew that he did not take orcish threats well, even if they lied half way across the Black Mountains or near the old fortress upon the Amon Lanc. 

"Feren, do what you must to insure our people's safety, for it is paramount," She instructed, garnering her Captain's full, pale blue attention. "I expect a report of your findings by the end of the week." 

"Of course, my queen," The captain saluted her and scurried off without another word to her or anyone else. She reached out and touched Thranduil's shoulder, moving aside long strands of his silvery hair. 

It was course against the skin of her palm. No doubt he was furious with her and he had every right. But he was no longer a prince, an heir, he was king, a father, her sun, her world… As selfish as it sounded. Her heart twisted in her chest wrongly, slamming against her ribs like an unbroken horse. 

Her voice was low in her throat, "You have almost every right to be angry with me." 

"I wish not to speak of it here, Coruwen," And with that he left her in the stables while she white knuckled her dress's skirts so hard that the beads imprinted upon her palms.

 

Thranduil watched his wife's skilled hands remove the copious amount of pearl studded pins from her hair. He rose from the edge of the bed and went to the vanity where she sat, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

"You are upset with me," He made it clear that it was no question, but a statement. 

Coruwen said nothing and continued to remove the pins from her hair, gaze cutting him deeply. The smarter side of him was shrinking back and it made him wonder if she felt that, for her gaze softened a touch. Thranduil took a moment to watch his beloved. She was golden, hair withdrawn from pools of sunlight. And he was her opposite; hair woven by the moon's gentle hands. At once, he saw her fingers trying to reach for a pin that was at the crown of her head, situated in a tightly curled braid. 

He stopped her from tangling her hair anymore, "Let me." 

The pin slid free with a simple pull and he placed it with the rest of the pins. With tentative hands, he began to comb through her hair. It was thick and silken in his hands, waves gently pulling at his fingers for attention. Why was she so terribly upset? This was unlike her typical fury, which was slow burning but bright. He would not deny the twist of uncertainty in his gut as he watched her face relax while he combed her hair. There was tension in her eyes that made him just the tiniest bit uneasy. 

Her eyes opened and she regarded him with inquisitive eyes, "Yes, I am upset. But it is out of concern, not fury." 

"Tis no secret you worry too much, my dear," Coruwen turned her eyes down to her lap. "But whatever for?"

Thranduil tucked a section behind her ear and she touched his hand with ginger fingers. They were shaking and cold, as though she had been left in the cold. She white knuckled his hands until the tremors slowed enough for her to take a hold of her own hands. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss into her hair, catching the scent of rosemary from her. It was soft and sweet, reminding him of many nights when harsh memories would surface like poison being sucked from a wound. 

"I have walked this world for many eras, Thranduil. When I came to Middle Earth, I came with a host of elves that I called my family. Now, they are all dead. For foolish reasons and foolish pride," She tilted her head up and gave him a watery look. Her voice broke, "Grant me this one safety and tell me you shall not die as they did." 

He rubbed a tear that slipped from her eyes with the pad of his thumb and then pressed kiss onto her forehead, "I will, meleth." 

"I fear losing you to those orcs. Soldiers are no more expendable than you, but… If I lost you," Coruwen sighed shakily, "I dare not think about it." 

Thranduil sat beside her, "I know it frightens you, Coruwen. But the safety of our people is paramount, you said so yourself." 

"Does that mean risking you as well?" Her hair fell into her eyes and she nervously swatted it away to tuck it behind her ears. "Call me selfish, but I prefer my love to stay physically with me." 

He saw her hands begin to shake once more and he took them into his own. With a gentle wisp, he probed her fëa and found that her fear was so terribly deep seated that it feared to leak into him. It came from years of holding cold, rigid hands and cleaning blood from faces. Blood that was not her own, yet that of her kindred. There had been no corpse for her to mourn when her father died, only whispers and reports. She had wept for days and days until her cousins came and dredged her from the pit. And he never wished to hear her weep for him in the same manner. She had seen enough for the two of them. 

"Then I will take guards with me. I shall not venture alone in this endeavor," He kept his voice even. "I had not meant to upset you." 

"I know…" 

Before she could continue, the door to their chambers was thrown open by Feren and Nostadriel. The captain was unsettled, that much Thranduil could tell by the tension in the ellon's shoulders. If Feren was not enough, the horror upon the nurse maid's face was enough to send alarm coursing through him. Nostadriel was a calm creature, all dark brown hair and kind grey eyes. Nothing fazed her, for his daughter - ever curious - fired a toy arrow past the elleth's ear, yet she did not flinch. For her to be so feral eyed and shaking was… shocking. On too new legs, Nostadriel stumbled into Feren, who braced her with an arm. 

"Feren, what is the meaning of this?" He demanded, looking between the two of them. Nostadriel was stammering for words while Feren attempted to calm her. "Feren." 

The response sent his heart slamming against his ribcage, "Nostadriel came to me and said that the princess had escaped into forest sometime after she left to check upon the prince." 

_"What?"_ Coruwen's reply was low, deadlier than a bell's toll. She appeared at his side, eyes narrowed and dark. They became the yawning maw of the seas at which her people crossed ages ago. Had he not known her better, he might have thought her completely calm, but he saw the tinges of ire forming - the setting of her shoulders and the clasp of her hands. 

The nurse shrunk back against Feren, tears welling in her grey eyes. "I-I do not know. She must have slipped past the guards or through a side door to the forest. I am sorry, my lady!" 

"And Legolas?" 

Feren pressed a hand to Nostadriel's forearm before she could speak, "Still in the nursery, my queen. I alerted the Royal Guards to make sure nothing happened to him." 

"Thank you, Feren," Thranduil replied, keeping his voice even despite his wife's growing fury within the two of them. "Alert the hunters. Have them prepare to leave within a few minutes." 

The captain dipped his head and hurried off with Nostadriel hot on his heels. For a long moment, he watched Coruwen out of the corner of his eye before making for his armor. While he donned it, he could not help but think of why Aeweth would flee. She was hardly a skittish thing and she never expressed any interest in the forest save herb picking. A frown pulled at his lips and he casted the thought aside. Now was hardly the time for pondering. 

"I am going with you," Coruwen's voice made him give pause and gawk at her. She was not regarding him in the slightest, eyes transfixed upon the door that now lay closed. 

"I need you here. In the case she returns while I am away," He told her as he buckled his breastplate. "You know Aeweth, she always has been curious." 

"Do you honestly expect me to sit here and worry over our daughter? She is like the both of us in that she is like a hound with its nose to the forest floor. She will keep searching and searching for Valar knows what until she finds herself in a snake pit!" Her voice made him stand straighter, spine suddenly filled with cooled metal. "I am going with you." 

There was no changing her, he knew, but a part of him wanted to tell her no once more to see what all could be gained. Yet… He knew it to be folly. The two of them were nothing but stubborn, in simplicity. 

"You are right," He gave her a nod and she gave him a wide eyed stare while he finished buckling the tricky breastplate. "Aeweth needs the both of us. And if we've any chance of finding her, greater numbers will do us far better than small. However…" 

His wife's voice was quiet, "Yes?"

He brushed against her fraying fëa, "Do not stray far from me." 

For I could not bear the thought of losing you, He thought to himself as Coruwen gave him a tight smile.

 

The horses broke from the palace gates in a clamor of hooves beating against stone and compounded dirt. Night had shrouded the world with a diamond studded cloak and the pale orb of the moon was their only guide. His hunters had all ready departed ahead of them to scour the pathways and trees for any signs of his daughter. All he had with him were a few spare guards and his wife at his side. He despised traveling this late at night, moreover he hated having to find Aeweth in this dark. She was little still, she could be overlooked or snatched by… No, he would not think of it now. As it stood, the dread in his belly was colder than the Ice his wife had crossed as a girl. The world around him swirled with silence, rising and falling in hushes and the dull thundering of hooves. Above, he could see his hunters in the trees, their armor twinkling in the moonlight. 

"She cannot be far!" Feren shouted above the dim roar. "They found tracks!" 

"How fresh are they?" He enquired, slowing Suldal to match Feren's gelding. 

"Within the last hour, the Chief Hunter is assuming she went toward the river," Feren's brows drew together in a furrow and he shook his head. "We shall keep looking."

"Have the hunters split up and search near the river then. The more ground that can be covered, the better," Thranduil reined Suldal off onto a animal pathway that was barely overgrown with brush. "No one is return to the halls until my daughter is found!" 

Horses screamed as they were wrenched to turn and run again. There was naught but fear in his heart, gaping and all consuming, for fear of the worst. He could hear his wife behind him, muttering to herself as they ventured down the pathway. Should have trusted myself with Aeweth, she was hissing, Aeweth is too curious… That much was plain to him. When Aeweth was Legolas' age, she often tried to crawl out of his lap in meetings or try to convince him to pick her up so she could see further. Coruwen often said that their princess had the Noldor look, but he would wager now that she assumed more of his father, curious like a cat. 

"What do you make of the hunters' findings?" Coruwen's golden hair appeared in his side vision, bound back in a braid and swaying. "Aeweth making for the river makes no sense." 

"I trust our hunters. And if she is anything like my Adar, she is searching for something," He white knuckled Suldal's reins once more. "We have more time if what Feren said was false. If not, then she might all ready be gone."

"Do not say that. We will find her, I can feel it," There was a quiver in his wife's silver voice that made him all the more uneasy. He turned his gaze up to her for a brief moment before it went back to the path. Deer tracks, chipmunks, even a few elk but nothing elven. He narrowed his eyes at the pathway, and then pinched the space between his eyes. Even for his sharp eyes, the darkness of his home made it nigh impossible to see. "Mayhaps it might be easier on you if we were to dismount?" 

"Mayhaps, but if Feren and the others were to call for us," She give him a sidelong glance and he huffed, "If you think it will be easier. Then, I shall." 

He dismounted quickly, boots sinking into the half dried mud at his courser's hooves. The footprints he had been tracking were indeed easier to see. They were made not too long ago, they were too close together for his liking… 

"She was being chased," He murmured, eyes tracing the pattern northward toward the river. "Feren was correct, but she seemed to be all over." 

"Then lead on. I shall keep a hold of Suldal," Concern edged his wife's voice to a fine point. He handed his courser's reins to her, which she tied to the back of her saddle while he hurried ahead, eyes glued to the path at his feet. 

His mother had taught him to hunt and track when he was an elfling, how listen, how to speak the language of the world around him. She had been an excellent teacher, far better than the Master of Hunt that resided in Doriath. Listen, ion nîn, and it shall show you, his mother had said all those years ago in a voice that was softer than moss. He kept going and going, tracks changing to slips mingled with tiny handprints, and then there were boots; too large and wide to be any elf's. 

And then, at once, they stopped cold. 

His daughter was gone, the other set of footprints… The riverbed had swallowed them whole, leaving only the whisper of the river that was like grey silk. A long sigh slipped from his lungs when Coruwen came riding up behind him. 

She dismounted from her horse, "Whatever is the matter?" 

"The tracks have disappeared. The river has dissolved them," He chewed the inside of his cheek in thought. If they were split up and search the riverbank.. No, he did not want to say that aloud. 

"I will look down the eastern bank. She is close, is she not?" Coruwen's remark made him freeze. 

"Coruwen…"

"I will not venture far," She pulled the horses over to a nearby tree, a smile upturning the edges of her mouth. Though there was nothing in his heart save horror, the smile was faint and it softened the fear a tiny bit. "You search west and if we do not find her after we are out of each other's sight, then come back."


	2. And Fury, I have Walked

The forest was quiet, as if stuck in a perpetual state of shadow and looming fear. Dark verdant leaves rustled overhead, whispering in his ear as he moved. 

Once, his home had been beautiful and vibrant, like the sun upon emeralds. Birds once sang their melodies high in the canopy, never scattering, and animals would follow the hunters about like lovesick pups. Those days were gone now, snuffed out by a slow burning ailment that often reminded him of poison black in a wound. 

Stagnant, grey water laid not too far from him, the banks sleek as a fresh sheet of silk. It was a common horse trap, mud like that. A horse or deer would trounce in it and then they would lose to whatever gave chase. A hunter had twisted his femur from his hipbone there when he was chasing off wolves. 

There was nothing for him, save imprints of orcs and a few deer. No prints of his daughter. And though he might have been grateful to see the deep imprints of orcs and their movements, his mind kept fleeting elsewhere. It rubbed him quite the wrong way to be chasing something that knew not it was being chased. 

"Where did you go, little bird?" Thranduil murmured to himself as he touched a orc print that had pivoted behind him. "And why were they hunting you?" 

Thranduil looked up when he felt a nibble at his hair. Suldal was above him and stared at him with his large, pensive eyes. The courser was leaning down and sniffing him, mayhaps wondering what he was doing. 

Thranduil's lips twitched as Suldal lipped at his hair, "How did you escape the knot she tied, hm?" 

"I let him loose," Feren appeared at his side with the host of hunters. The hunters of his people were silent shadows, garbed in dark silver with hoods drawn nearly to the bridge of their noses. Feren stared up at him with curious eyes, "Where is Her Grace? I thought she would be with you." 

"Was - we split up to look for Aeweth here. There were tracks not too far away, near where Coruwen's mare is," He gestured for the hunters to move, "See what you can find." 

The lead hunter stalked toward the path and knelt down, fingers dangling above the ground by a hair's breadth. Mayhaps they might something, something he did not find. 

Instead, a scream sent birds frenzying into the air, squawking and chirping madly from the direction of that his wife had gone. 

_No._

Deep, shear heartache lanced him in the chest. 

He should have gone. He should have stayed! If he had then… There would not be the deep fear in his gut that was spreading throughout him like ice in a rushing river. 

Though he moved away and blood screamed in his ears, he can dimly hear the shouts of his hunters and Feren behind him. They are beckoning him back, that it was nothing - No! This was his blind mistake, he would fix it. 

Thranduil broke into a run, parallel to the river's bank and the threat to fall into its murky depths. There was a rattle in his ears, or a laugh, or rustling - he could no more tell himself than anyone else. Under tree he went, dodging tree limbs that grabbed at him with gnarled, clawed hands. 

When he found his way out, he was in a clearing that was unfamiliar. 

And then all at once, a body crashed into him and he reeled backward. 

"Ada!" Aeweth was clutching him for dear life, tears streaming down her face. A coil of tension undid in his chest as he scooped up his daughter. Her weight was comforting in his arms, though she was smearing mud and leaves on his pauldrons as she scrambled to wrap her arms around his neck. 

"You are safe, Aeweth," He whispered and pulled back so he could look at her. There was a cut on her cheek and her face was covered in mud. He smudged away the tears that rolled down her cheeks, "Where is your Nana?" 

Aeweth pointed onward, "That way. She let me escape." 

"Escape?" Thranduil furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?" 

"Some orcs came… Nana told me to run and find you. I saw you through the trees, but…" 

He set her down and grasped the hilt of his sword, "Find Feren, little bird." 

"But Ada-" 

He was all ready jogging toward his wife, "Do as I say!" 

_For I will not lose you as well as her_ . 

His daughter did not fight him. Her footsteps could be heard through the brush, making toward his captain and hunters. There was fear in his heart, icy and prickling in his blood. Spirit crumpled and writhed within him like a wriggling snake beneath a boot. The closer he came to where Aeweth had pointed, the more it flailed in horror. 

"Let me go!" Coruwen's voice shattered his panic and sent his eyes darting in every direction. Her voice was broken in his hearing. 

She was closer than he expected. 

"Be quiet, she-elf! Or we'll break your neck," A guttural, strident voice barked back. "Where'd the little one go? Boss said she'll taste fine stewed." 

Thranduil crouched in the darkness of the foliage, squinting through the leaves that brushed his cheek with prickly fingers. He could see one orc from his spot, clutching a short bow of burnished steel and horn with arrows as thick as a man's thumb in a quiver at his hip. Leonine hair flitted into his sight as swift as the archer turned to speak with its comrade. 

"We have the lady elf! We should just drag her back!" The archer whined, voice grating on his ears. 

A second orc appeared. Leather covered in dirt, blood, and Eru knows what covered the second. It had knives at its side, shaped like a sickle and rusted with blood. It turned his stomach a bit to see them churning about like ants. 

The second whapped the archer on the head, "You bumbling piece of shite, she's nothing to the Boss since you shot her. If you hadn't done that, we wouldn't be in this pickle!" 

"She was going to stick me! I defended meself." 

"You're a damned idiot. I could've chopped her hand off without you sticking her with an arrow. Next time, warn me." Suddenly the orc stopped cold in its tracks and turned westward. "Need to go. Elves be coming." 

"Take the lady?" 

He was all ready leaving, "Leave her! We didn't bring the wolves anyhow!" 

Thranduil took the chance to make for the clearing. Brambles threatened to trip him, grab his ankles and pull him to the floor and never let him see his wife. His heart galloped in his chest, breaking through the terror that had crippled him so. He had to see her, touch her, at least know she was alive in some fashion. When he came into the small clearing, his heart fell through his chest and somewhere on the ground behind him. 

Coruwen laid before him, clutching one of the archer's thick arrows to her chest, blood slipping between the cracks in her slender fingers. 

Scrambling over to her, he touched her face and saw her blue eyes dimly focus upon him. They were dark, the grey nearly swallowing the entirety of the blue he adored so. She could not die - not here. 

"Meleth, please," He whispered, pressing his hand to the arrow she clutched. It was lodged too close to the heart, perhaps it punctured a lung. "Coruwen… If you can hear me.." 

"I…Can," Her voice was tiny, a breath. "Pull.. the arrow." 

He frowned, "If I pull the arrow, you will bleed more." 

"The arrow makes it hard to.." She took a shuddering breath. And he understood but hated knowing what pain it would cause her. She turned her eyes up at him, the penchant for love and kindness had disappeared entirely. Now, there was pain and fear. For fear of what, he never knew. She lifted her hand to allow him to grasp the bolt. 

"I shall not die here… Thranduil, I promise," She whispered as the maelstrom of grief began to swell in his chest. She gave him a soft, watery smile. "Please… It will only take a… moment." 

Tremors spiraled down his fingers as he fisted the bolt in his hand and _pulled_. The arrow flung free with a sharp gasp from his wife that dug her fingers into his epaulet. He could feel her pain radiating outward merely by the way she clutched at him, arms thrown about his chest and her face pressed into his shoulder. Her breathing was all shudders and shallow inhales as he pressed a hand against the wound on her back that oozed hot blood. 

"You cannot die here," He murmured into her hair, as if more to himself than to her. Grief shredded him alive, tearing his heart vein from vein until it was kicked from himself. Tears began to blur his vision ever so faintly "I beg it of you." 

Her fingers ran along the edges of his face, "I know… I know… If we were to get back in time. Mayhaps.." 

At his back, he heard the snorting of horses and the calls of his hunters and his daughter as his wife became limp in his grip. 

~.~.~ 

The healers say that Mother will not be coming around for a long time. 

A century at the least, Nostadriel told her the other night when Father was not there to put her to bed. Aeweth missed his stories and the way he smiled when she would laugh. She missed her father… And when she asked Nostadriel why, the elleth simply looked at her with sad, grey eyes. _Your Adar wishes to stay close to your Naneth until such a time that she is well enough,_ She had said sadly. 

When Aeweth said it was her fault her mother was so sick, Nostadriel told her it was not her fault. Fate had put her there by accident… If she had used her head like Mother had always said, maybe, just maybe, she would not be sick and Father would come back and tell her a story. She wanted to see Mother. The last time she saw her, she was screaming at her to run and find her Father. She had but…. Mother had come back nestled against her father while blood coated Suldal's front. And Father had been crying, she saw it from Feren's arms. 

She should not be getting out of bed so late, but… Nostadriel had left the door unlocked and the guards were changing shifts. Why not go now? Legolas was asleep and she would be back before anyone noticed. 

On quiet feet, she slipped out of bed and out the door. Corridor upon corridor she walked until she went down a flight of steps to the healers corridor that smelled of stale herbs and metal. Aeweth knew Mother would be here of all places, the healers wanted her close. Poking her head around a corner, she saw the Chief Healer organizing herbs into wicker baskets - wrong door. She traveled to another door, poked her head in, and saw a male healer tying a bandage around one of the hunter's arms. 

Aeweth noticed the huntress's hair. It was like flame, burning brightly with gold and copper, bound back in a braid that hung past her waist. She was pretty, like a butterfly. Blinking, Aeweth slipped away and poked her head into another doorway to find it empty. 

She checked several other doors and found neither of her parents. It wasn't until she came to the end of the hallway, where the corridor became an ascending stairwell up to the military floors, that she heard the familiar humming of Father. 

Standing up on tiptoe, she peered through the lock to see the silvery hair of Father. Frowning to herself, she pushed the door open slowly, like a mouse moving in front of a cat, so that she could slip in. The room was dimly lit save a candle or two that painted the carven stone with lazy shadows. 

Aeweth caught sight of Father first, propped up against the woven branches of the headboard with a book in his lap. She was not sure if Father was asleep or resting his eyes, or so he called it. She crept closer and closer until she was at Father's side and pulled herself up onto the bed. Mother was asleep on Father's right side, gold hair fanned around her head like bird's wings. She was pale, so pale she had a bit of grey in her skin, and it was hard for Aeweth to track her breathing. 

"Aeweth, what are you doing out of bed?" Father's voice made her start and fall face first onto his knees. Shame coursed through her. Upon looking up, she saw Father's green eyes staring at her coldly. They were grandfather's eyes, apparently, and she had them too like her Father. 

"I-I wanted to see you, Ada," She murmured into his leg. "Nostadriel doesn't tell good stories." 

She felt his hands around her and lift her to put her in his lap. There were bruises under Father's eyes, like he had been awake for too long. They were rimmed red too. He gave her a unyielding stare, "Aeweth, I will not tolerate you sneaking out for something like this." 

She frowned, "Ada… I.." 

"You disobeyed Nostadriel again. I have half a mind to send you back through the guards." 

"Ada, I wanted to see you and Nana!" She half shouted but was quick to remind herself that Mother was sleeping. She swallowed the lump that started to form in her throat, "I-I was worried about Nana. Nostadriel said she was very sick and I…I was scared." 

After a few moment of lingering silence, Father sighed and then brushed back strands of hair behind her ears, "I should have told you, little bird. Twas my mistake." 

She touched Mother's cheek, "Will she wake up soon?" 

"Soon," Father's voice cracked some. "That is what they say, at least." 

By some stroke of luck, she hoped that Mother would wake up soon. She wanted to sing with Mother again, and picks herbs, maybe even learn how to ride with her. If she never woke up… Who would do those things? 

**Author's Note:**

> Aeweth means "little bird" In Sindarin, or so my rusty Sindarin handbook says. She is about... ten, by the count of elves and Legolas is barely a year old.  
> Elf children, by the time they're one can sing, dance, walk, talk in full complete sentences. For every one year of age, add two mental years. So, if an elf child is one, they're mentally two.


End file.
